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rhythmaningMore mountains: a weekend walking in the north west.
Some friends had rented a cottage in Coulags in Strathcarron. I got a ride up with a friend who dropped me off by the cottage and I climbed Maol Chean-dearg, six miles up the track behind the cottage.
It was a lovely afternoon. The views north to Torridon were stunning. There were showers, and a rainbow formed in the glen between Maol Chean-dearg and Sgurr Ruadh. I sat for a long while, watching the clouds and the light as the showers sped by, trying to identify the different hills and eating smoked salmon sandwiches. (I like a little luxury in the hills!)
The people I was away with – a disparate bunch of former colleagues and people who go out with the same hillwalking club (all of whom take their hillwalking a lot more seriously than I do) had arranged to have a barbeque that evening. Vast quantities of sausages, burgers and chops were consumed, together with garden-fresh salads, washed down with copious wine and whisky long into the evening.
At the time this seemed like a great idea, of course, but it didn’t seem so smart when we had to get up at 7am for an early start next morning. There was a big plan for the day: climbing (the unpronounceable) Bidein a Choire Sheasgaich and Lurg Mhor on a through route, starting from the north, climbing up and down, up and down, then up Beinn Tharsuin, down again, up Bidein a Choire Sheasgaich, down, up Lurg Mhor, and then down to Loch Calvie and west, walking through the passes and out at Achintee – a distance of more than twenty miles and with a lot of ascent and descent. Still, since we could do a through route with cars at both ends, it seemed preferable to the standard route (which is to go back over all the hills you have just climbed, and about eighteen miles; the idea of going back over those hills at the end of the day is just horrible).
The weather was just right for such a trek – a bit of sun, a fair bit of cloud, a few light showers. But it felt like a hell of a walk. The views, though, were great, and with the long summer evenings – it was light until 11pm that far north (and light from 3am – so none of us slept that well!) – there was no rush: we could take our time.
These hills are so remote that we were in the Scottish wilderness, miles from the nearest habitation. It felt quite liberating being so far from civilisation.
On the walk out, I came across a stag beside a stream. It raised its head and stared at me, nonchalantly: it didn’t take to being disturbed. It didn’t trot away until, after several minutes of watching each other, I started walking on.
It was a long walk back; it took us eleven hours all told, and we didn’t eat until ten that night. Not so much whisky was drunk.
I hadn’t planned to go out the following day, reckoning that two days’ walking was enough; but the next morning was so glorious it seemed a pity to waste it. One of the party wanted to climb Liatach (pronounced Liagach, apparently), one of my favourite hills (it is where I want my ashes scattered). I have only climbed Liatach in thick fog before, so I decided I would go with him.
Liatach is a fine hill: two munros joined by a sharp ridge of pinnacles. It rises straight up from the road – more or less at sea level to over 1000m: a sharp, steep cliff to climb. The path zigzags slowly up. It was a hard climb in the sun; we stopped to slap on sun lotion.
After this, of course, it clouded over. When we reached the ridge, we walked out to the eastern peak, Stuc a Choire Dhuibh Bhig, to get the views back to the first munro, Spidean a Choire Leith, and across to the vast expanse of Beinn Eighe.
As we reached the summit, the fog came down, the wind blew up and it started raining. It didn’t stop for the next twenty four hours. (So no more photos!) Once more, I walked along the ridge in fog. We avoided the pinnacles – I didn’t feel safe in the strong wind – but even the safer path to the south of the ridge itself was narrow and slippery, with precipitous drops. And I still need to do the hill on a good day.
Some friends had rented a cottage in Coulags in Strathcarron. I got a ride up with a friend who dropped me off by the cottage and I climbed Maol Chean-dearg, six miles up the track behind the cottage.
It was a lovely afternoon. The views north to Torridon were stunning. There were showers, and a rainbow formed in the glen between Maol Chean-dearg and Sgurr Ruadh. I sat for a long while, watching the clouds and the light as the showers sped by, trying to identify the different hills and eating smoked salmon sandwiches. (I like a little luxury in the hills!)
The people I was away with – a disparate bunch of former colleagues and people who go out with the same hillwalking club (all of whom take their hillwalking a lot more seriously than I do) had arranged to have a barbeque that evening. Vast quantities of sausages, burgers and chops were consumed, together with garden-fresh salads, washed down with copious wine and whisky long into the evening.
At the time this seemed like a great idea, of course, but it didn’t seem so smart when we had to get up at 7am for an early start next morning. There was a big plan for the day: climbing (the unpronounceable) Bidein a Choire Sheasgaich and Lurg Mhor on a through route, starting from the north, climbing up and down, up and down, then up Beinn Tharsuin, down again, up Bidein a Choire Sheasgaich, down, up Lurg Mhor, and then down to Loch Calvie and west, walking through the passes and out at Achintee – a distance of more than twenty miles and with a lot of ascent and descent. Still, since we could do a through route with cars at both ends, it seemed preferable to the standard route (which is to go back over all the hills you have just climbed, and about eighteen miles; the idea of going back over those hills at the end of the day is just horrible).
The weather was just right for such a trek – a bit of sun, a fair bit of cloud, a few light showers. But it felt like a hell of a walk. The views, though, were great, and with the long summer evenings – it was light until 11pm that far north (and light from 3am – so none of us slept that well!) – there was no rush: we could take our time.
These hills are so remote that we were in the Scottish wilderness, miles from the nearest habitation. It felt quite liberating being so far from civilisation.
On the walk out, I came across a stag beside a stream. It raised its head and stared at me, nonchalantly: it didn’t take to being disturbed. It didn’t trot away until, after several minutes of watching each other, I started walking on.
It was a long walk back; it took us eleven hours all told, and we didn’t eat until ten that night. Not so much whisky was drunk.
I hadn’t planned to go out the following day, reckoning that two days’ walking was enough; but the next morning was so glorious it seemed a pity to waste it. One of the party wanted to climb Liatach (pronounced Liagach, apparently), one of my favourite hills (it is where I want my ashes scattered). I have only climbed Liatach in thick fog before, so I decided I would go with him.
Liatach is a fine hill: two munros joined by a sharp ridge of pinnacles. It rises straight up from the road – more or less at sea level to over 1000m: a sharp, steep cliff to climb. The path zigzags slowly up. It was a hard climb in the sun; we stopped to slap on sun lotion.
After this, of course, it clouded over. When we reached the ridge, we walked out to the eastern peak, Stuc a Choire Dhuibh Bhig, to get the views back to the first munro, Spidean a Choire Leith, and across to the vast expanse of Beinn Eighe.
As we reached the summit, the fog came down, the wind blew up and it started raining. It didn’t stop for the next twenty four hours. (So no more photos!) Once more, I walked along the ridge in fog. We avoided the pinnacles – I didn’t feel safe in the strong wind – but even the safer path to the south of the ridge itself was narrow and slippery, with precipitous drops. And I still need to do the hill on a good day.